


An Old Friend

by thequeenmeera



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, I WAS ROBBED, Mild Smut, also doesn't "almost" a man sound more like innuendo than some other phrasing, arrogance is not intelligence, either that line was poorly worded or it was a joke about how bran hasn't gotten laid yet, i can't believe i let the show play me like that, i'm including a smackdown for sansa because i'm fed up with her attitude, local woman loses last little bit of hope she didn't even know she still had, lol i won't lose hope till the end, plus smut, the reunion i deserved, the reunion i needed but didn't get, this shriveled heart just won't let go, this was originally supposed to be g-rated but then my shipper heart took over
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-13 17:32:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18473722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequeenmeera/pseuds/thequeenmeera
Summary: So the show played me and my poor, shriveled heart. This is how the end of 8x01 SHOULD have gone.(Note: I used this fic to vent about Sansa's petty behavior as well so if you can't handle her getting smacked down this fic is not for you)





	An Old Friend

“Bran what are you doing out here?” Sam asked, the man seemed concerned about Bran despite his own upset, it was why Bran liked him.

“I’m waiting for an old friend,” Bran told him and sent his friend on his way.

Bran kept his vigil for days, long cold days. Whenever he was forced back inside by a concerned guard or Arya – as she was the only one of his family who seemed to have time for him he had them help him to the window where he kept the shutters open, staring out towards the gate even though the view was obstructed.

“Aren’t the White Walkers coming from the North?” Arya asked him.

He didn’t take his eyes off the towers that were in his way. “Yes they are. But I’m not watching for them.”

“Who are you watching for then?”

“An old friend.”

Arya let the matter drop. In the morning Bran was back in his spot; the residents of Winterfell were beginning to see him as part of the landscape, much like the posts holding up the outer balconies or a large sack of grain that had been left in the yard.

Eventually someone did come riding through the gate. A tall man on a dark horse, he wore a hood but Bran had a creeping suspicion that he knew the man.

The figure dismounted and threw back his hood revealing shaggy, dirty hair that Bran believed might have been gold once but with the dirt and the flecks of gray looked more like dirt. The man turned around and Bran felt a chill in his heart. He hadn’t seen that face in life since he was a boy though he could not fully remember the moment Jaime Lannister had thrown him from the tower. Bran had seen him too many times in his nightmares since then to forget the face of the man who had crippled him.

Jaime Lannister held Bran’s gaze, they did not speak. They didn’t have the chance for as Bran was just beginning to think of something to say Ser Jaime was swept away by guards. It was a relief, he needed more time to think on that.

But it seemed that the moment Bran looked away from the gate that she came through it. “Bran?” she said, her voice was soft and sad. The regret that had filled him since he’d last seen her rolled over him in a great wave and he found he couldn’t look at her until she’d walked right up to him, blocking out any other view.

“Meera,” he answered while staring at her boots. New boots, he realized. They were taller, darker, fur-lined instead of fur covered. The leather had odd bumps on it.

“Bran, could you look at me?” Meera snapped.

He obeyed, hesitantly lifting his head to meet her eyes. Her hair was shorter and she looked better-fed but her expression was hesitant, guarded. Her lips looked soft and her cheeks were pink from the cold and her eyes were framed by snow-spotted lashes. _She is beautiful_ he thought and opened his mouth to tell her so but stopped. He had no right to tell her such things.

Meera spoke before he could think of anything else, “Did you mean what you said? When I left here I mean, did you mean that you aren’t yourself anymore? I – I hate to think of you as being lost to me.”

“I did, in a way. Then.”

“Then? But not now?”

“Not now. Not as much at least. I’ll try to be better.”

She smiled then and Bran felt warmth rise from his belly, he couldn’t help but smile back at her. “I’ll take what I can get,” she told him.

They were swept away to the great hall before they could finish their conversation. The meeting was long and boring. A constant battle between his eldest sister and their new queen. Bran spent more time staring at Meera who was pretending to pay attention to the contest. Or at least she was pretending to pay attention until his sister’s final mis-step. “What need have we of extra mouths to feed in the winter?”

“So you’d rather be slaughtered than be hospitable my lady?” Meera did not shout but her voice was strong, ringing about the hall. Bran glanced over at his friend who was standing now and glaring at his sister.

Sansa looked particularly affronted, “We will die of starvation just as easily. And I do not recall inviting you into the hall.”

“Any northern citizen ought to have the right to speak about their own safety,” Arya snapped.

“Lady Reed has just as much right to speak as any of these contentious lords you invited,” Bran said at nearly the same time.

Sansa glared and seemed to be about to say something unwise when Meera interjected again, “If you had paid more attention the first time I was here _my lady_ , you might know who I was. But you appeared to be more interested in discreet conversations with your Lord Baelish than you were with your own brother. And even then you haven’t even seen what’s threatening us. None of these lords or ladies here have, apart from me. I’ve seen the Night King, I’ve fought his army. I lost my brother and my friends to their attacks. Your divisiveness is only going to get all of us killed.”

“Lady Reed is right my lady,” Queen Daenerys said with a slight nod in Meera’s direction. “The white walkers are a much greater threat than starvation _and_ if you had done your job as lady of Winterfell perhaps you would be less anxious about food.”

“What food?” Sansa started.

“Enough!” Jon slammed his fist on the table. “You are not the lady of Winterfell anymore, you did your best to prepare us for the long night and we appreciate your work but we cannot sit here and squabble like children when death is at our door. We can argue about food and crowns after the war. Enough with all of you.” The lords started to disperse, muttering darkly amongst themselves. “The lot of you are so stubborn and childish, must I knock your heads together to see if that can put some sense in you? Enough with your bickering and your schemes. It is well past time for you to live up to your stations in life. Gather your food and your men, your women and children and livestock. Any of my lords caught speaking treason will be put to the sword. Any of you who complains about your leadership will be sent to the front lines when the battle comes. Have I made myself clear?”

There was a grumbling of ascent and Sansa stormed out the back of the hall. Someone left to talk her down. Bran was looking for Meera in the crowd but couldn’t find her until he realized she’d only approached the table instead of wandering into the yard with the rest of the lords. “My lady,” Jon said and Bran realized Jon must have called Meera forward and he hadn’t heard. “When did you face the Night King?”

“Some months ago, when they came for Bran.”

Bran could feel eyes on him, he looked down at Ghost and Nymeria who were both resting at his feet. “I didn’t realize you knew my brother, or that you were with him in the North.”

There was a hint of a laugh in Meera’s voice when she answered, “Well how did you think he survived?”

“We haven’t had the opportunity to discuss it. Did you really fight them?”

“Yes –”

“Meera killed a white walker, at least one I might have missed another” Bran looked back at the group about the table.

“You killed a white walker?” the queen asked.

“Only one.” Meera was beginning to blush.

“That makes you one of only three people to have slain one, my lady. That is a feat worthy of a song” Jon told her.

Meera was blushing harder now, “I don’t need anyone to sing about me.”

“I doubt any of us feel that we need to be sung about.”

“Sansa might,” Arya muttered.

“My command for peace includes you little sister.”

“Speaking of commands, my lord, I thought I was the ruler here?” Daenerys asked.

“I did not attempt to command your men, only the northerners.”

“Well, you can see how that might be a problem.”

“Dany – can we discuss this later?”

The queen smiled at Jon, “Of course.”

“Do you still need me to be here or am I only getting in the way?” Meera asked.

Jon looked almost startled to hear another voice, “I would like to hear more about your journeys with my brother, but I suppose that will have to wait for a better time. There should be a servant about the place who can see to your accommodations my lady if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” Meera said but she waited with Bran while the others left. “I’m not sure how to command a servant to help me or what they might look like to be honest. But I wanted to speak with you and it may be easier to do that now.”

Bran was helped back to his room and Meera went with him to talk about her time at Greywater until a servant came to tell her that her own room and a bath were ready for her. When she was gone Bran ordered a bath for himself, he felt cold without her presence and his hair was dirty he supposed.

Later Bran was sitting up in his bed, looking at the snow that was falling outside and contemplating how lovely Meera’s cheeks were when she blushed or how soft her lips looked in the firelight when there was a knock on his door. He gave permission for it to be opened and was surprised to see Meera herself slip inside. She held her cloak tight around herself and sat on the edge of Bran’s bed. “I wanted to see you again before I went to bed” She told him.

“I was just thinking about you,” he whispered then he reddened, realizing that his true meaning must have come across.

Meera seemed to be distracted though, she picked at the furs beside her. “I was just, I want to talk to you but I also… it’s cold and I missed you and I also miss your snoring.”

“My snoring?” Bran was incredulous and possibly offended.

“You snore sometimes” she shrugged. “I wanted to ask if I could stay with you tonight. As long as you promise not to tell anyone. I think I’ve made enough enemies as it is without anyone being able to call me a slattern or your mistress or something like that.”

“But you were right to oppose them and you’re not a, a slattern. Or my mistress. Of course I won’t tell anyone.” Meera was moving closer to him, slowly edging across the bed. She was close enough for him to see the pinkness of her lips and a small freckle beneath her right eye.

Meera leaned toward him, “And what if I was, your mistress I mean.” Her breath warmed his face and Bran’s heart fluttered.

“I thought I had to be wed to have a mistress.”

“What about your weirwoods, you could say you’re wedded to them?”

“A man can’t wed a tree.”

She smiled and leaned even closer, Bran grabbed her arm stopping her and holding her at once. “Well what could you wed then?”

“You,” he murmured and raised a hand to cup her face before he kissed her.

Bran was barely aware of what was happening with Meera only he was perfectly aware. Her weight was on his lap, perfect and painful. One moment they were dressed in bedclothes and in another he was running a finger along Meera’s bare arm, down the length of her body to her legs. He gripped her thighs and pulled her tighter onto him.

They lost themselves in their movements, in the deep pleasure of it all. Bran was glad of the winds without and that they were so high up, blessedly alone at the top of one of Winterfell’s towers. Meera sighed and moaned in his ear and he returned the favor.

It was strange, Bran mused, that in that position with Meera settled on his lap they were eye to eye. If he’d been able to stand he’d tower over her, envelope her body with his own. When he was seated in his chair she stood taller than him. But this way they were equals.

When they were finished they settled beneath the furs and Meera tangled herself amongst his limbs, her head resting in the crook of his neck. “What do I call you now?” Bran asked her sleepily.

“You call me Meera like you’ve always done.”

“I just feel like there should be something else. You’re not my wife, not unless I can convince you to wed me. You’re not my mistress because I’m not wed to anyone else. And you’re no slattern.”

“Well then it sounds like you’re out of options. Just use my name Bran.”

“You’re also my lady.”

She snorted, “And when have you called me that?”

“You’re also my friend I suppose.”

“You suppose?”

“An old friend.”

Meera pinched him and they laughed together, “Old friend it is” she conceded and kissed Bran on his nose before she snuggled back into his neck. Bran sluggishly thought that he'd never felt so warm before

**Author's Note:**

> I'm tired of having my time wasted with S stans throwing temper tantrums so I'm moderating comments from now on!


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